Can't Go There
by rosiethero
Summary: There are places Toris desperately wants to go, but Alfred isn't sure he can follow this time. WARNINGS: established BDSM couple, rape fantasy, violence. AmeLiet. Kink Meme de-anon


**WARNINGS: established BDSM couple, rape fantasy, violence.**

Original request:

_"Any/Any - Dom uses safeword_

_Two nations have some kind of BDSM or otherwise kinky relationship. However, the sub is a lot more extreme than the dom is. That said, dom is usually pretty game to try what sub wants. But one day (or night, whatever), dom discovers, during the act, that there's something s/he cannot bring him/herself to do. (Not for reasons of "eww, gross," but because it's something that could be physically or emotionally risky-think something like breathplay or simulated rape rather than something like scat.) Dom tries to push through and do it-after all, it's what sub wants-but can't. Dom uses the safeword. Thinking dom called the safeword out of fear for sub, sub wonders, "wtf, I was fine" before realizing that dom couldn't cope with the kink in question. Where it goes from there is up to you."_

* * *

It's a little after two in the morning. It's dark and the street is empty. A lone figure is the only life in sight, loitering against one of the buildings with a hood over his head and his hands in his pockets. He stands just beyond the reach of a buzzing orange streetlight, partially hidden away, barely noticeable.

Alfred leans against the brick wall, trying to look as casual as he can, but it's hard. He keeps glancing at the gap in the buildings to his left, a dark back street with no lights and no windows facing it. Toris had picked it out earlier that day, as casually as if he were looking for a new shirt.

That feels like forever ago, and Alfred is as nervous now as he was then. He thought he would have settled down by now, gotten accustomed to the idea of what he is about to do, but all he feels is sick. He briefly wonders who in the world would think up of such a depraved thing, but quells that thought at once. He is being selfish. This isn't for him, it's for Toris, and God, does he need it. Alfred can push aside his doubts for him. He can do this for Toris.

_I hope,_ he thinks.

He checks his watch. Ten after two. Toris should be here soon.

And speak of the devil, Alfred hears footsteps to his right, coming slowly up the sidewalk. He doesn't look, though, because that's how they planned it. They are playing the part of strangers tonight, and Alfred needs to keep up his act.

The footsteps come closer, and Alfred keeps his eyes on his shoes. He chews the inside of his lip, still anxious, but he usually is before he and Toris play one of their games, especially a new one like this. He remembers the first time Toris suggested the riding crop, how nervous he was about the whole thing, but now it's become a regular part of their sex life, just like how the handcuffs, the maid's outfit, and the degrading (but still fake) insults have done. This will surely turn out the same way, he tells himself. He'll get over his nerves so he can give Toris what he needs, and then they can go home and take a long, hot soak in the bath together and Alfred can patch him up (because that's what _he _needs, to take care of Toris, to know he's okay, no matter what), and they'll do it again when the time comes.

Except that this is different. This isn't just about inflicting pain or being the dominant one, this time. He has to ignore everything that makes him a decent person tonight, disregard physical and verbal protests; act out one of the most horrible things a person can do to another human being.

The footsteps are almost upon him now, and Alfred gives a little "Hey" and a nod without looking up.

"Hello," an accented voice answers. Casual and friendly to an outsider, but Alfred hears the tension in his voice, the anticipation. Alfred watches his shoes go past, through the orange light, and then back into the shadow.

He lifts his head and starts walking.

No going back now.

Toris is a few steps ahead of him, looking onward, completely unassuming (or at least he appears so). Alfred watches him closely, counts the seconds until he reaches the back alley. He's nearly there now, and Alfred jogs to catch up, readies his body, swallows his agitation, and prepares to pounce.

Toris is directly in front of the alley now.

Alfred attacks.

He sprints the last few steps, one arms reaching out to cover Toris's mouth, the other wrapping around his abdomen and pulling him close. The body in his grip squirms and protests, and Alfred squeezes harder.

"Keep your mouth shut and I won't kill you," he snarls, and it frightens him how malicious his own voice sounds. He starts dragging the other towards the alley and he hears Toris whimper. It's not the good kind that Alfred likes, the kind derived from pleasure and maybe a bit of begging, but one of fear. Even if it's fake, it still makes his stomach twist unpleasantly.

He gets them both into the alley way and pushes the smaller body face-first against the brick, away from the street lights, out of sight. Toris is still "struggling," and manages to aim a pretty good hit to Alfred's ribs with his elbow.

_He'll be apologizing for that later,_ Alfred thinks, almost fondly. It makes him feel a little better though, knowing Toris isn't the only one getting roughed up tonight.

"Stop, please," the smaller man sobs suddenly.

_It's okay, it's just part of the act, he wants this, he __**needs**__ this, _Alfred tells himself. It becomes a mantra in his head; _It's okay, he wants this, it's okay, he wants this…_

He pushes onward, turning Toris so that they're facing and pinning him to the wall. His green eyes are wide and his breathing is shallow, but Alfred knows him enough to recognize the excitement on his face, concealed behind false terror. It's reassuring, he thinks, a reminder that all this is an act, a game. It helps him pull himself together for a moment.

"Why should I?" he growls, and forcibly claims Toris's mouth with his own, partially so he doesn't have to say anything as disgusting as that again.

He takes advantage of his larger form, pressing Toris's body into the wall with his own. With every whimper and sob from the other man, Alfred hates himself a little more.

It's probably best to just get this over with, he decides, and starts ripping open Toris's shirt, sending buttons to the ground. Toris fights back harder, which is good; Alfred had encouraged him to do that. He is strong enough that the smaller man's struggles really won't have an effect, and he feels like he deserves the punches and kicks that do hit their mark.

He manages to get Toris's pants undone and worms a hand down his underwear. Alfred is just beginning to think that maybe, _maybe_, he can push his way through this, when Toris lets out a low, heavy sob, and just goes limp. He continues to make miserable little noises, but he's no longer resisting. He's just resigned himself to his fate, and Alfred's gut clenches horribly at the sight. He tries, tries to go on, to make himself continue for Toris's sake, but-

_It's okay, he wants this, it's okay- no, no it's not okay, __**stop, shit, NO!**_

_-_he just can't anymore.

Alfred pushes away from the wall, away from Toris, and stumbles backwards until his back hits brick.

"Red," he gasps, a lump welling up his throat. "Shit, Toris, I'm sorry, I can't do this-"

He buries his face in his hands and slides down the wall, feeling guilty and ashamed, and he's not sure if it's because he let his lover down or because he's so disgusted by what he was about to do, even if it was pretend.

But Toris is there within a second, kneeling beside him, arms around him and one hand pushing back the hood to card through his hair and speaking softly to him, "It's alright, Alfred, it's okay, I'm okay."

"I'm sorry," he says again, very nearly in tears. "I know, I'm supposed to take care of you and what you need, I just- god, I can't do that to you, Toris."

"We take care of each other," Toris says gently, shifting to look Alfred in the eye. There's a scrape on his cheek that's sure to well up into a bruise by the next day, but he's smiling despite it. "Don't feel bad about this, Alfred. You've been so wonderful and you've done so much for me already, and I am so grateful."

Alfred hugs him again, eager to feel their bodies pressed together in a caring, loving embrace instead of the struggle earlier. "I'm sorry," he mumbles again, feels like he can never say it enough.

"Come one," Toris utters gently. "Let's go home."

Alfred gives Toris his jacket on the walk back, since his shirt is pretty much ruined forever, and the two head back to Alfred's house in silence. It's a comfortable silence, though, and Alfred is glad of that. He knows they need to talk, but it's not like they're putting it off. They just both need time to recover first, to get back in the right frame of mind. Really, though, he's feeling better already.

The discussion happens later, during that long hot bath Alfred had been looking so forward to. He is leaning against one end of the tub and Toris is leaning against his chest, eyes closed, the picture of peace, even with the scrapes and bruises on his body.

It's funny, Alfred thinks. Maybe it's just the normal passage of time taking effect or his mind playing tricks on him, but it seems like the more he hurts Toris in order to please him, the more his older scars seem to fade away.

"I'm not mad at you," Toris murmurs into the silence. "Just so you know."

"I know," Alfred answers, leaving a kiss on the crown of the smaller man's head. "I'm just sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted."

"I told you before, don't worry about that." Toris cranes his neck back and smiles up at Alfred. "You give me so much, and not just when it comes to sex. Even if you didn't help me live out those scenarios, I'd still be happy just with your company."

"Still feel kind of bad, though," Alfred admits, curling his arms around Toris's stomach in a gentle mocking of his attack earlier.

"There's some places you aren't willing to go, and that's okay," the brunette replies, stroking a hand up the other's arm. "I won't make you go there, and don't you feel like you're obligated to do so either."

Another soft silence, and then Alfred speaks again. "But I _reeeally_ want to make it up to you…" And with the hand stroking up Toris's thigh, it's hard to misunderstand him.

And as amazing as the whips, the chains, the power-play and the pleasure-pain can be, sometimes there really is nothing better in the world as a gentle hand touching all the right places.

Toris laughs and leans back for a kiss. "Well, if you insist…"


End file.
